


Vindicated

by dreamingoutloud



Series: Flawed-The Enjolras/Grantaire Song Fic Collection [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Blagden Singing Makes Me Happy, Complicated Relationships, Dashboard Confessional - Freeform, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Drinking, Guys' Night Out, Karaoke, M/M, Song Lyrics, Songfic, Tveit's Sultry Voice, Vindicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 01:14:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4080868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamingoutloud/pseuds/dreamingoutloud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys have been dancing around the topic of a relationship and it all comes to a head one slightly buzzed karaoke night in which Grantaire makes himself perfectly clear.  Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vindicated

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elliebeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliebeth/gifts).



> Song #2 on my Enjolras/Grantaire playlist... Vindicated by Dashboard Confessional. 101% for the line that Enjolras references, ugh, my heart.
> 
> Also, if you haven't heard Aaron Tveit sing To Make You Feel My Love, get thee to Youtube, ASAP. *SWOON!*

“I still can’t believe I let you guys talk me into this.” Though his friends had been downing drinks all night, Enjolras was still nursing his first bottle of beer. He knew what they’d say. Of course he did. That he was the most boring one in the room, that it was never fun when Enjolras was more sober than everyone else. But someone needed to be the one to keep it together. Especially when Joly and Bossuet decided karaoke needed to happen. After Combeferre had serenaded them all with 80s power ballads, nothing was off limits. 

As it somehow always was, his table was the loudest in the restaurant. He didn’t think they minded much, not when his friends typically paid more than their share of gratuities. Get a few drinks in them and the boys were more than generous. And they were friendly, at least. Not an angry drunk in the bunch. A thought that made Enjolras reach for the glass of water he’d ordered along with his drink. He was the one with that reputation and he wasn’t going to be the one to ruin everyone’s night. 

Especially since if he did get drunk, he’d likely say things he couldn’t take back. Like how furious he was with Grantaire. Like how annoying it was to be avoided by someone who was supposed to be a friend. No, a drunken Enjolras was the last thing any of them needed just then. Because if he wasn’t shouting at his so-called friend, he’d be trying to kiss him. And that was something none of them were ready to deal with.

“Oh, come on, admit you’re having fun!” Courfeyrac urged, draining his glass. He clinked it loudly against Combeferre’s and Enjolras sighed. 

Across the table, Joly grinned. “You’re at least more social than this guy?” he offered, nudging Marius firmly in the ribs. The younger man merely rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why you bothered to come if you’re going to mope around all night whining about Cosette.”

That got a general laugh around the table. It was boys’ night. No women allowed. Even if Cosette singing the duet of I’ve Got You Babe with Marius would have been much more impressive than Jehan. And having Eponine around might have spiced things up. But no. Joly had insisted. It was just the guys tonight. So the Amis were piled around a table full of empty glasses and bottles and a few plates of ridiculously greasy and salty appetizers and as the only sober one at the table, Enjolras could at least acknowledge that this was likely a bad idea. But they’d all been working hard, they deserved a night off. He was proud of each of them for all the effort they’d put into his campaign.

All except one, of course. But that certainly hadn’t stopped Grantaire from showing up. From taking the seat furthest from Enjolras and knocking down a whiskey like it was nothing. Just another way he was Enjolras’ polar opposite. Where alcohol made Enjolras downright cruel, it was the thing that made Grantaire more cheerful and friendly. By the second one, he was teasing Joly and Bossuet at the end of the table. Though he wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, really he wasn’t, Enjolras found himself frustrated that he couldn’t hear what they were talking about.

“Come on, Enj, you’re not going to wimp out, are you? Everyone’s gotta do at least one song tonight.” Courf grinned at him, nudging the songbook closer to him. 

Enjolras eyed it like it was a poisonous plant that could harm him if it got any closer. “Not everyone is quite as...enthusiastically talented as you are, mon ami,” he reminded the brunette. 

To his surprise, it wasn’t Courfeyrac who answered. To his irritation, it was Grantaire. “Come now, Apollo. God of music and poetry, right? Grace us with a song.” Ordinarily the teasing would have been welcomed. Maybe even caused him to blush a bit. But the words were spoken with an icy edge, one that no one else at the table had missed. Despite the raucous behavior only seconds before, they all quieted down, watching the exchange.

Yet Enjolras wouldn’t give them the benefit of a fight. What was going on between the two of them was their business and theirs alone. He merely took the book, searched out a song, filled out the little paper, and stood, carrying it over to the man running the machine that night. “Everyone happy now?” he asked, taking his seat and finishing his drink. As his friends all stared at him, he simply lifted a finger, signaling to their server he was ready for another. He’d need a few more sips at the least to actually get up and sing in front of everyone. Despite the ‘god of music’ crack, he was hardly confident in his own voice.

“Bit of liquid courage?” Combeferre murmured, so only Enjolras could hear. Just a glance at his friend’s expression told Enjolras what he needed to know. That Ferre knew it wasn’t the singing bothering him that night, but the dark-haired man at the other end of the table. The one he couldn’t even make eye contact with. Instead of an answer, he merely gave a nod, reaching for the bottle placed in front of him and downing two large gulps immediately. 

He remained quiet, allowing the boisterous behavior around the table to continue. Most of the time, he loved moments like this. They weren’t all close. They’d all met at different points. But they had come together for a common cause-his cause-and he was so unbelievably proud of them and grateful he’d met them. Now, though, he could only focus on his own anxiousness. And the fact that Grantaire was barely even looking in his direction. 

He’d dwelled so much, even, that he nearly missed them calling his name to sing. Stifling a groan, he got to his feet as Ferre nudged him. He took a sip of his water before making his way to the little monitor with the song’s title displayed and the key, like he’d have any clue which key he was singing in. He cleared his throat as the DJ pushed the microphone in his hand and pressed play. 

With his eyes closed, he didn’t have to see the stares of his friends. Their fearless leader, the man unafraid to take on the world, was at his absolute most shy. He was incredibly insecure just then. But as the music started, he relaxed. It was one he knew well. One that yanked at his heart every time he heard it. The other boys thought he had no heart for anything other than France, but as he opened his mouth to sing, they were proven wrong. 

Because a man didn’t sing the most heartfelt version of To Make You Feel My Love to a country. Patria and its people would never inspire those sorts of emotions, not even in him.

When he returned to the table, he was met with boisterous cheering. For someone used to receiving praise, Enjolras only gave a small smile and nodded at their hooting. And, if he was very careful, he could avoid letting his gaze drift to the end of the table. Had he even been paying any attention? Or was he so far gone into his drinks that he couldn’t be bothered? A part of him desperately wanted to know. 

He didn’t have to ask. Joly spoke up, addressing Grantaire but in a manner that showed the entire table was invited to the conversation. “Well, Taire? Was that good enough for you?”

Enjolras’ eyes darted towards the darker man, despite his resolve not to. Grantaire merely looked at him over the edge of the glass he was drinking from. “It’ll do.” 

Well. Save writing it out in a book, there was little else Enjolras could do to make his feelings any more clear. So that was it, then. This was why he stayed away from matters of the heart. They were too complicated and only left people hurt. So he simply leaned back in his chair and sipped at his drink. Maybe he’d order some nachos or something. What did it matter if he ate too much salt and fat? The only person in the room who mattered wasn’t even bothering with him.

It would have been fine leaving it at that except the man on the microphone called Grantaire’s name. Enjolras hadn’t even seen him get up. Maybe Bossuet had submitted his name for him? But no, Grantaire stood and confidently made his way to the screen, taking the microphone with no hesitation. And, to Enjolras’ surprise, he sang clearly and easily, as if he was born for it.

He supposed it made sense. The man was naturally talented at just about everything. Why not add singing to it? 

The song sounded vaguely familiar and Enjolras, though trying to avoid looking in Grantaire’s direction, found himself focusing on the smooth tenor voice of the man he had such ridiculously complicated feelings for.

_Hope dangles on a string, like slow spinning redemption..._

Early two-thousands emo boyband pop? That seemed off, somehow. He would have thought Grantaire would go for something more...edgy? More metal, maybe. Or else independent singer-songwriter. Maybe the karaoke DJ hadn’t had those in his repertoire. But he couldn’t deny that the voice was something incredible. Where only moments ago the majority of the room was more concerned with their meals and their drinks, now almost everyone was paying attention to the man on the stage. 

In spite of every instinct telling him not to, Enjolras’ eyes drifted towards the staging area. Grantaire wasn’t classically good looking, and that was okay. He didn’t need to be. His natural grace and humor made up for it. And there was something enchanting about the slight rise of his cheekbones, the deep soulfulness of his eyes, and that smile that was always just a little off center. It almost hurt to watch him now, knowing how his friend felt. Or, more importantly, didn’t feel. He never should have put himself on the line that way. 

_Defense is paper thin, just one touch and I’d be in too deep now to ever swim against the current._

It wasn’t until almost the entire way through the song that the lyrics started to hit him. That it all started to click together. Combined with the things Grantaire had said to him... 

No. It wasn’t possible. Was it? Was Enjolras just so desperate that he was hearing hope where hope didn’t necessarily exist? Stranger things had happened. He’d once interpreted a poem about shopping for bedroom curtains as an ode to equality, after all. But it was so... There was a chance, wasn’t there? The hope in his eyes was clear as he finally gave up his foolish attempts at looking away from the man captivating him in the center of the room. 

As if Grantaire had heard his resolve dropping, he looked up, searching the room as brown eyes met blue. Though the stare was intense, Enjolras didn’t look away. His breath caught in his throat as Grantaire finished the song, looking directly into his eyes. No one else in the room seemed to exist, not even Combeferre, who at some point had rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

_Vindicated, I am selfish, I am wrong. I am right, I swear I’m right, swear I knew it all along. And I am flawed, but I am cleaning up so well. I am seeing in me now the things you swore you saw yourself._

Which was almost exactly what Enjolras had said to him. 

To his surprise, though, Grantaire didn’t even stop at the table when he finished. He walked straight towards the restaurant’s door. Apparently he wasn’t as drunk as Enjolras had assumed, since he was walking at a confident and almost breakneck speed. Joly and Enjolras both stood at the same time, and their eyes met across the table. For a moment, it looked like Joly was measuring him up. Finally, he sat back down and nodded after his friend. “Go, then. Talk sense into him.” 

It was obvious Joly knew what had been going on between them. It might have even been possible he’d arranged this whole evening on purpose. But Enjolras couldn’t dwell on that just then. Instead, he grabbed his jacket and jogged to the door, searching to see if Grantaire was still in the parking lot at all. Surprise was evident on his face when he realized Grantaire hadn’t gone far at all, merely to the benches meant for waiting when there was a long period to be seated.

Slowly, as if approaching a dangerous animal, he made his way to the bench, dropping to the brunette’s side. At first, he didn’t speak. The man so famously good with his words didn’t even know where to start. Finally, he snapped. “What the hell was that?” he asked, glancing sideways. 

Without a drink or his sketchpad, it was obvious Grantaire didn’t know what to do with his hands. He was twisting them together repeatedly, drumming out occasional rhythms. “I could ask you the same thing,” he said simply. He didn’t ask ‘what’, which Enjolras respected. It definitely made him feel better knowing they were both pretty confused with what was happening. 

“I would think you’d know,” Enjolras replied, glancing at the floor. “I can only tell you how I feel in so many ways. And you can’t tell me how you don’t feel and then turn around and...that.”

Grantaire gave a heavy sigh, looking at Enjolras. “I told you how I _can’t_ feel, Apollo. There’s a difference. I know what I want but I also know what I can’t have.”

The laugh Enjolras gave was empty, hollow. There was no mirth to it. “I am flawed, but I am cleaning up so well?” he reminded him. “That is what you just sang, isn’t it? I see so much more in you. I don’t see a screw-up, I see a talented man with so much to offer. And god help me, I want to be a part of that. Believe me, I don’t want to feel this way. But I clearly don’t get a say in how I feel.”

”And you don’t get a say in how I feel, either,” Grantaire pointed out, but the fight was gone from his voice. He sounded more defeated than anything else.

For a long moment, Enjolras just watched him. His friend refused to meet his eyes, but he had no problem staring at his profile. It was an attractive enough sight if that’s all he was going to get from him. Finally, he found it in him to talk. To just open his mouth and let words come out. Ordinarily, he’d prepare speeches. Have something on notecards or at least have practiced. And while he’d run over what he wanted to say to Grantaire at least a dozen times in his mind, it was all pointless now. Now, he had to wing it. “I can’t help but wonder,” he began quietly, “what you’d do if I kissed you right now. Because you say I don’t get a say in how you feel, but if you didn’t feel anything for me, it wouldn’t matter, would it? You could push me away or hit me or whatever, but at least I’d know for sure. But I don’t think that’s what you’d do at all.”

The way Grantaire’s whole body tensed beside him told him a great deal. A slow, lazy smile crossed Enjolras’ face. “You want me to, don’t you? Then you don’t have to take responsibility for starting this. And you don’t, Taire. It can all be on me. But we both know we both want this and I know it’s going to be tough sometimes. You’re moody, I’ve got a temper the size of Eastern Europe. You drink too much and I get wrapped up in causes and don’t come out for days. But can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want this?”

Beside him, Grantaire released a long, slow breath. Finally, as if it almost pained him, he looked up, his dark eyes meeting Enjolras’ lighter ones. In some ways, they really were polar opposites. They shouldn’t have worked, really. But Enjolras was determined to make it work. If that’s what they both wanted. And the expression on Grantaire’s face said it all. Hesitantly, knowing how bad he was with such things, Enjolras leaned over, placing one hand at the juncture between Grantaire’s cheek and neck. Before he could change his mind, he brought his mouth to his friend’s, allowing a slow, lingering kiss.

At first, Grantaire didn’t respond, and Enjolras was certain he’d read all of the signs wrong. But finally, the dark haired man seemed to give in, relaxing into the kiss and even deepening it. Despite himself, Enjolras’ lips spread into a smile. Finally. When they finally pulled apart, Grantaire’s face still looked troubled. “You deserve better than this, you know that.”

”I don’t know what the hell I deserve anymore, Grantaire,” Enjolras reminded him. “I’m terrible at relationships. I don’t know how to do them properly. But if anyone can show me...maybe it’s you.”

At that, Grantaire did at least laugh a little, slightly under his breath. The sound warmed Enjolras and he scooted a bit closer, making sure they were touching. “You’re a fool for getting into this. Because now I’m not going to want to let you go.”

Enjolras’ smile was bright, and he initiated one more kiss. “I hope not,” he said softly. “Come on. Joly’s going to think I’ve murdered you.”


End file.
